The One Memory Diary
by Virareve
Summary: "Did you love her?" When our lives are shaped by our experiences, what if we could remember something without having actually experienced it? When the roads of reality and fiction continue to run parallel but seperate, will they ever meet at a crossroads?


It was Friday evening and her whole apartment was empty save two people. Being December and the last day of finals, all of her friends had gone out to celebrate. But it was not just her roommates; it was her whole floor, her whole _entire _building. The way her friends had been acting as they were getting ready one would have thought they spent all their time in their rooms studying.

A once constantly buzzing apartment was currently filled with the sound of the clinking of silverware and porcelains.

Ginger finished putting the dishes away, feeling his stare watching her the while. Sighing she turned around to see his blank stare looking at her. She set the dish in her hand on the counter and sat above his spot on the floor, arms resting on her knees, on the ledge of the window wall in the living room. She observed her friend as he now gazed numbly out at the Boston nightlife. The hordes of people, the foot of snow, and the numerous vehicles pulling along the street did nothing to affect him in slightest.

"Did you love her?"

Baljeet froze, and then settled down, considering her question. "I cannot even remember," he confessed honestly, "that probably means no." He looked disgusted. "That is just sad."

"No," She slid out of her position to take the spot beside him, "not really. Depends on how you look at it; I guess."

"Of course you would say that," Baljeet said exasperatedly, "you have always been such a romantic. Like Isabella waiting for Phineas to give her the time of day. That's you always naively trying to view the world as hopeful."

Ginger pursed her lips, before getting up and leaving him by the wall of glass. Quickly she browsed the bookshelf, located the book she was looking for and tossed it on his lap. He looked up at her curiously.

"What would you want to remember?" she asked as she walked over to her place.

He tuned the book over in his hands, confused. "What do you mean?" He scanned the pages of the book, trying to recall if he had ever read it. "Like something I have forgotten?"

She shrugged. "Sure."

Baljeet raised an eyebrow, "But if you said I had forgotten about it, then how could I remember it in the first place? Or have even a desire to remember it?"

"Okay. Anything." She pried the book out of his hands. "If you could have a memory of anything, real or not, what would it be?"

Baljeet looked at her incomprehensibly. "Like a _fake _memory?" He shook his head at the novel idea, "You do not make any sense."

"Well, I've always been good at _that_," she muttered, more to herself than him. "Here." He looked up when she placed the book in his lap, opened to a specific page. "What is this?"

He raised an eyebrow, deliberating on the answer, "…a diary entry?"

"Read it," she prodded. As his eyes roved down the page she said, "One must not record that which he wishes to hide." Baljeet look at her sharply, trying to figure her out, "Emperor Gwanghae of the Chosun Dynasty. He was remembered as a tyrannical ruler, but legend has it that for the first fifteen days he was a kind ruler. After fifteen days he recorded in his diary '_One must not record that which he wishes to hide_,'" she tapped the page in his hands, "try reading it again.

"A man's carefully picked and refined story captured in ink. Each one like a memory," she pointed to the words, "now imagine it held something different, something more than just a long gone king's meticulously constructed story, but just as real." Baljeet glanced at her again, this time more closely, more confused, and more incomprehensibly. "What if we wrote down moments that hadn't occurred? What if we had the chance to remember things we never actually experienced?"

The book dropped onto the floor. "But what good is it if it did not happen? It would not be as if anyone would actually believe it."

Ginger shook her head. "_You_ would believe it. It's about the feeling you get from it—that's what matters."

Baljeet gave a weary sigh, "The problem is that I like my memories based on reality, and you like fiction."

She turned her head away, looking down at the floor, studying the shape of her crossed legs and the purple stripes on her socks. "It's just nice…getting to decide what happens."

She could hear the shift of his clothes and the book was placed in her hands. "Tell me what happens—or happened—in this memory of yours that has never existed until now…What would you want to remember?"

Like a trickle of water that becomes a flash flood she could see it growing from one second of thought into a full blown, vivid mental image.

Without warning she was back in Rome, in the middle of the Spanish steps, the same ones she had climbed with her family when she was twelve. It was December again, and it was cold, but unlike Danville, there was no snow on the ground. The stars were in full view, it seemed like it was at least a few hours past sundown, but people were still roaming the streets and the lights in the shops were still on so it could not have been too late. It almost exactly replicated when she had come there nine years ago except for one thing. Her mom and dad, and Stacey were not there. _He _was.

"I'm nervous."

_She was leading him to the Trinitá de Monti Church. At the bottom of the stairs, there had been several people walking about, but as she led him up, the numbers decreased until she was alone with him, feeling his hand wrap around hers._

_She led him to look at the candles along the side, lit prayers from all over the world. As turned to her after he had lit a candle, it dawned on her how close the two of them were. She swallowed hard._

"For one arbitrary moment I gather enough courage to whisper what I've been wanting to tell him for years. I whisper in his ear something I've known, but never told him."

_He was still, his hand releasing hers and dropping to his side._

"I hold my breath, but it only makes my heart beat faster."

_He turned to her with new eyes and she could only look back at him, uncertain._

"He looks at me for the first time and it's all very different…"

_He smiled._

"…but it's with the same eyes I fell in love with."

_He pulled her scarf off her face._

"His hand comes up to my face, fingers brushing my cheek…"

_He looked at her for a moment, studying her, transcribing her to memory. His face was drawn down to hers. She rose on her toes to move up to meet him on the same level. Her fingers fisted on his own collar…_

"And then…"

_The problem is that I like my memories based on reality, and you like fiction._

She sagged to her left, against the window pane. "…nothing. It doesn't matter."

She looked out at the street. The silence in the apartment was deafening.

Baljeet sat pensively, looking thoughtful.

Suddenly Ginger was startled by Baljeet moving ninety degrees so that he faced her. She straightened up and silently questioned him. This was new. He was biting his lip as if he were considering something heavily when he leaned forward. His breath faintly touched her face. Then his right hand slid up her arm, past her shoulder, and his thumb swiped gently across the side of her face.

"His hand comes up to your face, his fingers brushing your cheek…and then?"

Ginger gulped, looking at him with wide eyes, but quickly she relaxed against his warm hand and tilted her head forward. When he moved to meet her, she paused before meeting him halfway.

"Fiction meets reality."


End file.
